


Red on Replay

by QueenDollopHead



Series: Zukka Week 2021 [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Fantasizing, Gym bros, M/M, Masturbation, Tattoos, Zukka Week 2021, don't skip leg day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 21:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenDollopHead/pseuds/QueenDollopHead
Summary: Zukka WeekDay 2:Tattoos///SoulmatesSokka can’t stop thinking about Zuko’s tattoo. But even in his own vivid imagination, he knows it’s not exactly healthy to touch himself whilst thinking about his best friend.Eh, nobody’s perfect.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Zukka Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209653
Comments: 18
Kudos: 130





	Red on Replay

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [sorryimabitanxious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryimabitanxious/pseuds/sorryimabitanxious) for beta-reading, and for also creating: [this incredible art](https://anxietyriddenzuko.tumblr.com/post/645742374865240064/zukka-week-day-2-tattoos-inspired-by) of Zuko! I'm obsessed 😍😍

They’re at the gym when Sokka first notices it. 

Zuko reaches up to do a chest press when the edge of his shirt lifts just a bit to show a flash of red ink.

He’s horrified to find that his first thought is ‘ _Shit, that’s hot_.’

Truth is, his feelings for Zuko have been steadily growing ever since they began hanging out more. It had started out with him feeling giddy at the chance to have someone to work out with, to suddenly doing laundry 3 times a week to make sure his best-looking gym shirts are always available. 

They’ve all been very soft and fluttery feels, but the brief glimpse of the tattoo stretching up above up and down his right side stirs something low in his stomach.

But Sokka’s not going to be caught staring, so he gets started on his own set of repetitions. He can’t afford to get an erection while at the gym, so he forces himself to think about boogers and frogs and Gran Gran to cool himself off.

He wants to ask about it, he’s _dying_ to ask him about it, but then they’re doing cool down stretches and Zuko’s shirt stubbornly stays in place.

* * *

The next day is leg day, so Sokka still doesn’t get to see the red tattoo again. At the leg press, he stares a little bit too long at his right thigh, trying to imagine how far down it goes. How far _in_.

“ _Sokka._ ” 

“Hm?” He asks, blinking in to focus. He looks up at Zuko, smiling and hoping he hadn’t just been caught.

“I said, can you set it to the next rung?”

“Oh, of course,” Sokka says. He quickly steps over to the machine, pulls the pin out to move it down to the next weight, and steps back. “All set!”

“Thanks,” Zuko says, before starting again. His muscles flex with the effort. 

Sokka hydrates very well that day.

* * *

Cardio day. Sokka has never been more _annoyed_ at having such a regimented routine. He kicks himself for not asking yesterday– it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal to ask a day after seeing it. “ _Hey– meant to ask yesterday, do you have a tattoo?_ ”

It would have been _so simple_ , but now it’s two days after the fact and he can’t let on that he’s been thinking about it for two days straight.

When they’re walking over to the treadmills, Zuko pulls his hair up into a ponytail, then wraps it up into a bun. They step up onto their machines, and Sokka remembers that they’re literally _surrounded_ by mirrors, and Zuko could have totally caught him staring.

So instead, he stares straight ahead, like usual, as they run.

Well, at first he _tries_ to steal a glance here and there at Zuko, but after stumbling enough to actually pull out the wristband that stops the machine, Sokka realizes this isn’t a safe option. After all, it’s not like Zuko’s going to start fanning himself with his shirt whilst running.

The stumble is _almost_ worth it when Zuko laughs, light and breathless at his clumsiness, but the embarrassment is enough to keep him from trying again.

Zuko refrains from making fun of him for wearing the wristband this time, but he feels his gaze when he refastens the magnet and resumes his workout.

They’ve been at it for almost 20 minutes, when Sokka has to raise the volume on his music to cover the distracting sound of Zuko’s heavy breathing.

It’s so loud, covering the sound _so_ well that he nearly trips again when Zuko taps his shoulder sometime later to tell him that it’s time to switch machines.

Zuko must have upped the incline this time, because he’s pleasantly flushed, a light sheen of sweat on his brow and darkening the neck of his shirt. It’s another stirring sight.

* * *

By arm day, Sokka’s just about ready to snap. He’s moments away from suggesting they do fucking _yoga_ today just to forge his own destiny, when he realizes that Zuko’s wearing the most oversized T-shirt he’s ever seen.

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Sokka asks him.

Zuko frowns at him. “I like having free range of movement in my arms.” He says.

Sokka gestures at himself. “Tank tops _also_ give you that.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “It’s not _that_ hot in here, Sokka.”

Sokka grunts in frustration, reaching back to tug on his own ponytail. God, _get it together,_ Sokka!

“Guess not,” he concedes with a sigh. “Still, most people cut off the sleeves when they go for an oversized workout shirt. You look like you’re about to take the ‘after’ photo for a weight-loss blog.” 

He scoffs at him, and it’s as good a close to the conversation as any. They start their reps with the dumbbells, and Sokka tries to picture how the red comes together. Are they flames? Geometric swirls? _What?_

He feels like he’s losing his damn mind.

* * *

It’s core day.

Fucking _finally_ . Sokka’s got them in the stretching room, planning to do all kinds of crunches and planks and mountain climbers all to finally get a second glance at his best friend’s waist and that is a _perfectly normal thing_.

He positions them right in front of the mirror to increase his chances, and his work pays off.

They’re mid circuit when Sokka sees the flash of red once again, his shirt creeping higher. He can’t look for long, his timer goes off and they’re on to the next 30-second exercise.

But every 5th cycle of thirty seconds, Sokka sees it again, never enough to identify it, not even long enough to glean how far it stretches. Just close enough this time to appreciate the shading, the line work, the vibrancy of the red and how beautifully it contrasts the stretches of pale, toned skin around it.

He’s planned this out, he’s ready. At the end of their workout, they’re in the locker room, pulling on their sweat pants when Sokka asks. “So, you have a tattoo?” he tries for a teasing edge in his voice, and mentally applauds himself for not making it sound as dirty as it feels. 

But Zuko hasn’t studied the script as well as he has.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Got it a few years back.”

And this is _supposed_ to be the part where Zuko shows him, because that’s a natural flow to the conversation. Obviously Sokka asked because he’s _interested_ in it and a halfway decent conversational partner should have realized this.

Zuko never ceases to surprise him, even though he probably _should_ know better by now.

He rolls with it as best as he can, conceals the frustration and anticipation he feels when he asks: “Can I see?”

And Zuko, about to pull on his hoodie, pauses. “Okay.” He says.

Sokka stands up to close his locker, and Zuko rises as well. He turns toward him, then with his right hand, grips the edge of his shirt to lift it all the way up to his chest. His other hand reaches across to his waistband, and Sokka feels his throat go dry when Zuko dips his thumb in and slides the corner garments down just past his hip bone.

A dragon. A red, golden-eyed dragon, majestic and powerful. It bares its teeth and claws, as it glides up Zuko’s side and folds down over the outside of his ribcage. The mirror behind him tells Sokka that, for the most part, it doesn’t wrap around, but it does certainly go lower than is being shown.

But Zuko is showing him _so much_ more than a tattoo right now. He’s baring his well-sculpted abs, deceivingly broad chest, narrow hips with the slightest ridge of his V teasing the path to muscular thighs underneath.

He must be staring, because Zuko’s grip tightens on his clothes. Sokka forces himself to look at Zuko’s face and finds him already watching. “Did it hurt?” he asks quietly.

Zuko shrugs. His face is still red from the workout, and he adjusts his clothes properly before responding. “A bit,” he says. “Some parts were more tender than others.”

And _oh_ , Sokka can picture quite easily which parts might have been the most sensitive. The same places where he wants to– _no_.

Sokka’s cut himself a lot of slack lately, but he really ought to draw the line at the thought of _licking_ his best friend’s tattoo.

Zuko strides back to the lockers, shrugs on his hoodie, then reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants again. He props his leg up on the bench, then pulls down the sweats just enough to reach the edge of shorts. He holds the sweatpants in place, but tugs the bottom of his shorts up high enough for Sokka to see the end of the tattoo. The tail of the dragon ends a few inches below his hip, curling inward about mid-thigh. “Most of this area didn’t really hurt,” he explains.

“Nope,” Sokka agrees. “Don’t imagine it would.” Then, before Zuko can catch his slip, he adds. “Ready to go?” 

Zuko nods, lowers his leg and grabs his gym bag. Sokka opens his locker once again, gives it a quick once over to make sure he didn’t forget anything, then grabs his own bag and keys and leads them out.

* * *

The apartment’s empty when he gets home. Suki must be at work still. 

Sokka knows he should hop right in the shower, but tomorrow is laundry day, so he trudges down the hall to his room, closes the door and flops onto his bed.

He spends a few minutes scrolling through his phone when, inevitably, Zuko’s tattoo comes to mind for the umpteenth time this week.

Sokka places his phone down his chest, folds his hands over his stomach.

While not fully connected, Sokka reasons he saw almost the whole tattoo. It’s pretty easy to fill in the gaps in his mind. A second set of claws on his pelvis, the tail wider by his hip before narrowing to a near point where it wraps around his thigh.

It’s alarmingly easy to picture Zuko, lying back on the table with his shirt rucked up his chest. His right leg pulled free from his pants, the garments pooling around his left. Zuko’s groin covered by a towel, keeping him just modest enough.

He imagines the tattoo artist starting from the top down, slowly cleaning the entire surface area with precise, circular motions. He pictures the purple ink outline of the beast-to-be. He wonders if that bit even _tickled_ , as the thermal stencil was gently pressed into place, then peeled away slowly.

The first press of the needle against his skin– Zuko had been holding his breath in anticipation, but the first prick makes him tighten abdominals, clench his teeth, sucking in a quiet, sharp breath.

And _oh_ that’s… quite the sight. Arousal pools low in his stomach, Zuko grips the edge of the table as the machine whirs, and Sokka squeezes his own fingers to fight the urge to… but his imagination is too keen. He sees Zuko’s chest rise with a deep, steadying breath when the artist pulls away to adjust his angle and he _just–_

Sokka relents, untangling his fingers to press a palm against his groin for some friction, his hips rolling up into the contact and sending his phone tumbling off his chest onto the mattress. His other hand, still in place, presses down just above the waistband of his shorts. He closes his eyes and the picture comes into further focus, a shaded vignette at the edges.

Zuko’s silky hair spills over his shoulders, he’s panting breathlessly like after their cardio workout the other day. Never mind that Zuko only started growing out his hair a few months ago, and it likely wasn’t anywhere near that long when he got the tattoo. 

Then again, he’s also pretty sure that Zuko wasn’t tattooed by _him_ , and yet it’s unmistakably his hands he sees, squeezed into black rubber gloves, that press against Zuko’s ribs. A cloth in one hand, tattoo gun in the other.

When Sokka follows a line, inking close to his navel, Zuko hisses in pain. He shushes him, massaging his thigh soothingly, careful not to smudge his outline. 

The skin around the black outline is pink and slightly puffy. His eyes trace the flushed halo down his ribs, abdomen, hip, down to his thigh.

He still has yet to trace the dragon tail, so Sokka grabs his knee and tilts it outward, giving Sokka access to his inner thigh.

Now that Sokka’s moved lower, Zuko’s risen up to his elbows, is watching him from above through hooded eyes. His mouth parted, a flush high on his cheeks–

The scene continues in his mind as Sokka licks his hand, palm to fingertip, exhaling hotly with one last rut into his palm before he finally does the thing he’d been heroically avoiding all week. He reaches into his shorts and underwear to finally grasp his cock. Its warmth fills his hand, he gives it a cursory tug as he pulls himself free. 

Up on his elbows, Zuko’s shirt would have surely tumbled down a bit, so Sokka amends his mental image to a shirtless Zuko. That makes more sense.

Timeline wise he hasn’t even shaded in the red, but in a blink the entire tattoo is finished. Sokka reaches for the modesty towel and Zuko is watching him with a heady stare. Chest rising and falling in anticipation. When Sokka pulls it aside, Zuko’s cock swells to attention. Sokka’s more than eager to lick, first at his hip along the dragon claw as an appetizer, mentally tasting the ink and the lotion he’d applied, then along the head of his cock.

_This_ taste is much preferable, his mind supplies. Zuko’s hips roll up beneath him as he shouts. Sokka places a steadying hand on his hip, then strokes him slowly.

From this angle between his legs, the table looks a lot more like his bed, with Zuko propped up against his pillows and Sokka lying down on his stomach before him. It would be easier here, to slide his arm under his leg and grip his muscular thigh.

But this is still ‘ _Sokka the tattoo artist’_ so the black gloves remain.

It isn’t long before Sokka’s bobbing his head in Zuko’s lap, watching his eyes as he takes him deeper and deeper. Zuko’s moans are quiet, open mouthed gasps like after a sprint. _No_. They’re low, sensual groans that rumble in his chest and occasionally slip through his lips when Sokka applies just the right amount of suction.

Moments later, Sokka’s pressing slicked, gloved fingers slowly into Zuko’s heat.

_That’s not sanitary,_ his brain whispers, but Sokka’s far too gone to argue that he’s using his own lube and not some parlor-staple ointment. Not sure if that would even be accurate.

Either way, this is _his_ fantasy damnit. And if he’s going to hell for this, he’s going down swinging. In his fantasy, Zuko wants him. He watches him with open lust, perhaps _more_ , until Sokka curls his fingers inside of him and his eyes flutter closed. He grips his hair tighter as Sokka sends him barreling closer and closer to the edge. Zuko shouts when he comes down his throat, sighs in content when Sokka swallows it down and flashes him a proud grin.

Rewind, pause, resume. 

This time Sokka’s leaning up on one elbow, whispering words of encouragement– sickly sweet pet names, maybe even some dirty talk–three fingers stroking inside of Zuko. Zuko’s moans are high, desperate whines, brow ridge furrowed and matching flushes across his cheeks and chest. When he comes, his lips form Sokka’s name, and _shit–_

One, two, three more furious strokes and Sokka’s own orgasm rips through him. He clenches his teeth, too lost in his own fantasy to have paid any attention to if Suki had come home in the last 15 minutes.

As he’s coming down, Sokka realizes that he’s just made a complete mess of his shirt. He grabs a tissue from his bedside to wipe himself down as best as possible, before shucking his shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket across the room. He tucks himself back into his shorts. He has to take a shower anyways.

He retrieves his phone from beside him on the bed and unlocks it.

Naturally, it’s from Zuko.

_Ty Lee shared a few yoga stretches with me; wanna give these a try for our warmup tomorrow?_

_-Link Attached-_

Sokka clicks the link, groans. This man is going to be the death of him.

He sends his reply.

**_Sounds good, buddy._ **

**Author's Note:**

> to Sokka: -bonk- go to horny jail
> 
> PS – Not _intentionally_ written to go along with my Teacher AU... but also not explicitly contradictory to it either.
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated!! Thanks for reading 💕

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Red on Replay's Dragon Tattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062082) by [sorryimabitanxious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryimabitanxious/pseuds/sorryimabitanxious)




End file.
